The Night He Forgot and the Morning she Remembered
by Cakenbakin
Summary: This is basically a little story about the Gil/Anne relationship and what happens after she rejects him in Kingsport. I don't own anything. Story is T now, its safe!
1. Chapter 1

**AN (disclaimer): I don't own any of the characters or the story (well except for James and his lovely personality) and this story is just my little shpiel on what I wanted to write about Gilbert/Anne**

Gilbert trudged back to his Kingsport dormitory, hands shoved deeply inside his coat pockets. He slowly strangled a handkerchief within, and felt for his key.

When he arrived, his roommate, the ever-sarcastic James Derwent glanced over at him from his place on the sofa and called,

"I must say, you do look like hell."

Gilbert didn't reply, but merely took the scotch from James's hand and downed it in one go. He was sick of her; he was sick of Anne.

"Hey!" James said, recalling Gilbert back to the present, "you didn't have to steal my scotch, you could've gotten some on your own!"

"Shut it, Derwent," Gil said, eyes closed, still holding the empty glass.

"You're in a right cheery mood today, aren't you?" James said angrily, "what's got you so twisted up?" Gilbert refused to answer; if he did his voice would come out in a strangled cry. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt like smashing something.

It was his second time asking her; he had been so naive to think she had changed, and might see him differently. He passed his exams because of her; she was his guiding thought behind achieving because, stupidly, he had thought that if he did, and she said yes, he would have a career to take care of them.

He was only vaguely aware of James leaving, and his muttering about going to get thoroughly drunk at the campus pub. The world spun, and he reached desperately for the bottle of scotch, still uncorked on the table.

Without thinking, he drank with abandon, scarcely letting the burning liquid slide down his throat before taking another hearty swig. _Make her go away, make her disappear. _

She did not go away; she became clearer and clearer in his mind until he could bear it no more. He tried blinking her away; anything that would make the sight of her more bearable. He took another long drink, and found his legs to be made of rubber.

He fell to the floor, and his vision slurred. The room spun, and he caught his wrist on the edge of the fireplace. He saw, rather than felt, the blood seeping from his wrist onto the floor, but was beyond caring.

He continued to drink until the bottle was empty, and with a cry of frustration, threw it against the wall. His ring was still in his pocket and, with a desperate motion, pulled it out and hurled it across the room. The window was open, and it let the warm summer air in through the fluttering curtains.

He dragged himself to the window, dizzy from the alcohol and the smell of blood.

He could jump; it was nearly a three story drop to the bottom. Anne's voice sounded, as if in a whisper, in the back of his mind.

"Gil, please," he heard her say, "Please no, Gil." He shook off her voice, and stepped, drunkenly, onto the ledge. He could hear, beside Anne's voice, laughter and voices coming from the campus, and imagined one of the laughing voices to be Anne's.

He heard a scream and recalled the feeling of falling, but then the world went mercifully black. There was no Anne to torment him anymore

The scream was Anne's. She saw him fall from the window, and heard him; the dull thud against the paving stones. Her scream had brought people about, and soon they crowded around Gil's unresponsive body while she stood back, sick and shocked, watching them.

She had come back to see him and make sure he was alright. After seeing his eyes when she refused him, she had been scared. No man, not even Gilbert, had looked at her like that; with the expression of a man drowning, already half-dead.

Tears came, and when they started, she could not stop them. She sobbed and screamed, and screamed until someone caught her quivering form and placed a blanket over her shoulders, drawing her so close she could not draw breath to cry out.

She heard Patty calling her name, but was led, slowly, as if underwater, towards her house.

Anne took the medicine that was offered to her, and soon she was asleep, but woke, crying and gasping, in the night.

She called to him; she had told him not to jump, but he had anyway. She saw his body arch as he fell, and saw him on the ground, but she had not gone to him. He was now certainly gone from her; he would never speak his kind words to her again. She staggered and was sick into her washbasin beside her bed.

"Please," she whispered, "Please Gil, no."

**AN: what do you think? Should Gilbert be dead or should he live? If no one suggests either way I will kill him off almost certainly :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you Lady Krystalyn for the wonderful review! This is my first fic ever so the support is great. To my lovely Beta, I am forever in your debt. (Even though I **_**can**_** spell on my own, thanks ;) As well, I wrote the story to the songs of Ludovico Einaudi. (Song names: Oltremare, Fly, and Nuvole Bianche)**

"Hey, Ugly."

Gilbert opened his eyes slowly, feeling terrible pain flair behind his eyes. He blinked hard and rolled over, feeling as if bees had stung him all over his body.

"How do you feel?" James asked, watching his friend with distant interest.

"Like Hell."

"I guess that's not that bad," James replied. It was only then that Gil noticed the dark rings under his eyes and the two day stubble on his chin.

"How long have you been here?" Gil asked, gingerly feeling a heavy gauze cast on his arm and the sharp pull of stitches somewhere below his armpit.

"A few days," James responded, non committal. "You missed the exam on fractures and sprains, though I do believe that you have become an expert on the matter on your own. Your mother chewed me out for letting you alone, you know," James looked tired and rubbed his chin.

"My mother was here?" Gil asked, rising slightly, but falling back with a sharp cry.

"Yah," James sounded agitated, "and some girl who wouldn't stop moaning about your accident being all her fault and other such nonsense. Really, Gil, you sure know how to pick them. How is it possible that women can hit the exact pitch when they cry that makes you wish to poke out your eardrums with a pair of rusty pliers?" Gilbert ignored him.

"Where is she?" he asked, breathing shallowly in an attempt to ease the pull of the stitches.

"She's out retrieving some lunch, but Gil, I'm not sure you'll want to see her; her incessant wailing might put you in a coma."

"Not her," Gilbert said impatiently, "My mother."

"Oh." James looked taken aback. "She is in the hall talking to the doctor. Should I fetch her for you?"

"Please," Gilbert said in a half-groan, all too aware of another kind of pain welling in his chest. "Oh, James, if you see that girl, for God's sake, do not let her in."

James rose to his feet, and a second later, was replaced by a puffy-eyed Mrs. Blythe. She hovered over his bed for a second, not sure what to do, then decided and took a hold of his uninjured hand.

Uninjured, that was, for the most part. Small cuts covered his exposed arm, and he saw vivid blue and black bruises dotting its length.

"Gil, son, how are you feeling?" His mother sounded much softer than normal; in the normal world she would have been crisp and admonished him for his folly.

"I do not know; will they have to saw an arm off?" Gilbert joked, smiling slightly. Mrs. Blythe looked stricken, and he desisted.

"Don't you joke about such things," she said, some of her old crispness returning, "After almost losing you, I—," she gasped for air like a goldfish, but regained her composure with a calming breath. "Anne came to see you when you came out of surgery," his mother said, as if this was a comforting fact to him.

"Please, don't talk to me about _her,_" he groaned, "I don't want to think about _her." _

"But darling," she insisted, "she saw you when you fell, and she is the one who got help for you. Do you not want to thank her?" _She saved me,_ he thought bitterly, _but if it hadn't been for the starry-eyed Angel of Avonlea, he would not have gotten so drunk as to slip when he was seeking fresh air on the nonexistent 'terrace' of his third floor rooming house. _

"_No." _

His mother did not question him again, but soon after they heard a commotion in the hallway. A female voice, painfully similar to Anne's demanded in a shrill voice to see him, but James, it seems was holding her off.

After a brief struggle, audible through the wall, Anne burst into the room, face red, her auburn hair in disarray. She was beautiful, so horribly beautiful, but Gilbert found that he did not care.

At her entrance, Mrs. Blythe took a covert glance at Anne and stood up, leaving the room despite her son's cold glare. Anne could see it to, and she shrunk slightly where she stood.

Not sure what to do, she perched herself on the edge of the seat recently vacated by Gilbert's mother, and looked at him tentatively under hooded eyelids. She too looked tired, but somewhere inside him, Gilbert was glad. He wasn't naturally malicious, but his sense of hurt over her rejection was far from faded.

"Gil," Anne said in a pleading voice,

"No, please Anne, leave me alone. Your presence is not exactly something I would recommend for the sickly. I'm living proof. Although that was rather hit and miss, wouldn't you agree?" She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a quite question. "Why are you here, Shirley?"

"Gil please," she said, tears rising to her eyes, "I love you; I know I haven't shown it, but I do. I was too scared to tell you earlier but now—,"

"Now things are different?" Gilbert asked coldly, eyes hard, "Now that your lapdog almost died you realize that he was nice to keep around?" His callousness surprised even him, but he felt barely a quiver of emotion at the sight of her, tears cascading down her face, her hair mussed and frizzy.

There had been a time where he desired to hold her when she cried so, or to even elicit her tears to show that she had loved him, but at the moment, he could care less about her tears. Anne would get over him, he was sure of that. He had heard stories about some rich dandy who was sweet on her. That was why he came to propose to her; he had wanted one last shot to make her his 'Anne with an E." But of course, like most foolhardy endeavors, it failed.

"Anne," he said in a hoarse whisper, "leave me. I never wish to see your face again."

Anne looked shocked and the tears flowed freer before she got up and fled from the room, not bothering to look back and see the horrified expression on the man who had rejected her.

Eventually scars heal, and Gilbert found himself intertwined very thoroughly with a Miss Christine Stuart, the lush and beautiful brunette of every shade and attitude.

"Oh, Gil," she cried as they kissed against the campus wall. They were intertwined in a very compromising position, and Gilbert's hands were halfway up her thigh, hitching up her skirt.

Their kiss deepened, and they broke apart for a moment.

"Come back to my place," Christine cooed in his ear, trailing hot kisses down his neck, "We're all adults here. Plus, old Hatty's gone. We have the whole house to ourselves." The sultry way she said 'all to _ourselves_' broke Gilbert's resistance. He had been waiting, with the hope that one day when he married Anne, they would share the moment, but since he had not so much as spoken to her in the last four months he figured it didn't matter.

It hadn't stopped him from dreaming of her after kissing Christine, or imaging her doing those things Christine did, but she was not there, and so his beau seemed a perfect companion.

Without waiting for his reply, Christine bounded away from him, tugging playfully at his tie. He smiled and followed her like a love-sick puppy, catching up with her every now and again to capture her lips in his and kiss her like the world was falling out beneath their feet.

For him, it was. It was also crumbling beneath the feet of a sorry bystander who, for reasons she could not quite place, had decided to go for a walk along the shady elms to clear her mind.

**AN: So? How is it so far? I didn't want to make this story have any very explicit scenes in it, and I am not (as far as I know) very good at writing them, but I thought the story needed to move along, so there you go! Christine is added in **


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: On the note of "bad/carnal" scenes I think there will have to be one, although I'm not sure how to write it. Suggestions are welcome! Oh, as well, I'll be away for a bit because my computer is getting fixed, so bear with me. I'll be back soon!**

"Diana!" Anne cried as her closest childhood friend came sweeping in, the glow of marriage and motherhood still shining in her rosy cheeks. "Oh, you should not have come so far in such a condition, what did Fred say?"

"You know Fred," Dianne Barry said with a wry smile, "he couldn't have made me stay." Anne took Diana's bag from her and led her into the kitchen where Stella Maynard and Pricilla Gordon sat, gossiping, over two cups of tea.

"Stella, Prissy," Anne said with a smile, "this is my oldest friend, Diana Barry." The two women at the table stood to greet her and they all sat down together, Anne bustling about getting tea ready for Diana.

"Come sit with us Anne," Diana said when Anne began fussing over tea and the lack of sugar in the pot.

"Oh, but Di," Anne said with a pouting voice, "I wanted this reunion to be a magical time, but now it has been spoiled by sugar and tea."

"Come now Anne," Diana said, catching her friends hand as she rushed about and pulled her to a chair. "There must have been a reason Charlie called me out here on such short notice." Charlie Sloan, joint friend to both Anne and Gilbert, had seen her sulking about for weeks, and when it became unbearable to see Gilbert in such a state of careless apathy and Anne appearing as if she would burst into tears at any moment, he had called in the professional friend to both of them.

Anne blushed. She knew that now Diana would need to know about Gilbert and her rejection, but she could barely think to write it in her diary, led alone tell someone. What would she say, after all? Of course the accident had been her fault; of course she felt jealousy for Christine, but Gilbert had moved on, and so had she, in a sense.

Royal Gardner was a fine man; the type Anne always imagined. Tall and darkly handsome, his ideas and fancies matched hers, but it did not stop Anne from hoping against hope that Gilbert would notice her; that he would lift his conditions of 'never wishing to seeing you face again.' Indeed, he had not seen her, but she had seen him one night while she strolled along the campus path, drawn from her bed from restlessness and insomnia.

She had felt a pang of hopeless when she saw the two of them rushing across the lawn, smiling and stealing kisses as they walked. She knew she had Royal, and that she should be happy, but Royal was almost too perfect; he was everything she had ever wanted, minus one thing.

She craved familiarity, the same sort she felt with her Avonlea school friends and with the places of her childhood. Again, before being called back to the present by Diana, who waved her hand by Anne's face, she thought of Marilla, Davy and Dora.

She still felt a pang of regret about leaving Marilla to the children, but she felt that she could help out more by making a career for herself so she could send money home to the family. Marilla was, essentially, her mother, but she had not seen her since she left for Redmond.

"—you know that Gilbert Blythe is engaged?" Pricilla asked Diana. Anne's head shot up at this announcement, and she felt sick. Staggering to her feet, she rushed for the bathroom and stood at the sink; stomach clenched and face paper white.

"Are you alright in there?" Diana's voice came from the other side of the door. Anne didn't reply. "Anne? Anne? If you don't answer me I will break down this door. I don't weigh as little as I did before I married."

"I—," Anne began to speak, but found the words lost in her throat.

"One, two, three—," Diana jiggled the doorknob and opened it with a bobby pin. She looked surprised to see her friend with her arms around her knees, eyes vacant.

Diana said not a word, but hauled her friend to her feet and led her to back to the kitchen where she asked where Anne's room was. Being told, she led Anne up the stairs and sat her on her bed. She took a throw from the corner and wrapped it around her shoulders as she had begun to shake.

"Whatever is the matter, dearest?" Diana asked, watching her friend carefully for any signs of further distress.

"Gil," Anne sobbed, finally breaking her silence.

"Gil what?" Diana asked, brows knitted in confusion. "Does this have anything to do with his fall a few months ago?"

"Y-yes," Anne covered her face with her hands. "He proposed to me before, and I rejected him. I suppose I just didn't think he would have found someone new so fast."

"Well he is extremely handsome," Diana admitted, "and he is a doctor. I am sure any woman would be glad to have him."

"Except for me," Anne replied miserably, sniffing and pulling the blanket tighter against her.

"Oh Anne," Diana replied, giving her friend a pitying smile, "You have Royal. He is just as good, or maybe even better than Gilbert. You should see him. Tonight. You two should go out, it would be fun."

Anne looked up at her friend and put on a hopeful smile. "Do you think so?"

"I know so," Diana smiled, but Anne didn't notice the worry in her eyes.

…..

That night Anne did meet with Royal, but she was vacant the whole time. It did not help that Royal did not seem to notice this, and droned on about poetry and the beauty of the night; a subject she would normally have embraced whole-heartedly, but on that occasion, found particularly boring and tedious.

"…Don't you agree, Anne?" Royal asked her, and she was forced to ask him to repeat his question.

"Your friend's engagement; don't you agree that Christine made a good match?" he said, sipping a glass of wine.

"Oh, yes," Anne said, distracted. She knew whoever this Christine was, she would be making a good marriage, but she was more worried about Gilbert. She worried that he was rushing into things so soon after his relationship with her had run aground, and that, like his fall out of the window, he was simply not thinking straight.

She knew she needed to talk to him, but he had told her to leave him be, so she was torn. She had Royal and he had Christine. What more did either of them want but faithful, caring partners?

She knew the answer before she had to consciously think it. They needed each other.

"Anne?" Royal asked, "Anne, you have been distant all night, are you well?"

"I am," Anne replied with a calmness that surprised even herself. "Now, where were we?"

**AN: Sorry for the short chapter. I promise to make it up to you guys when I get my computer back (hopefully I'll have more ideas for the story by then!) As always, R&R! **


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hey, I'm back! I'm going to try to write a long chapter this time, so, if you want to, tell me what you think! (the kid quotes aren't mine, I'm simply not that funny, but they are anonymous, so yah, if they're yours, I don't own them, you do!) Happy reading!**

Gilbert yawned into his medical textbook. He had been up since five in the morning when he had gotten up to go for a run along the pier. It was a practice he had done for months since his arrival at Redmond, and found the activity incredibly refreshing, even if James was the one who first introduced him to the concept.

Christine had insisted that he accompany her to lunch that day, causing him to be late for lectures, and, because he had been late for lectures, he had gotten only a quarter of the lesson copied, and still had to copy medical definitions from seven pages of the notes James has supplied him with.

Just as he finished copying 'Achillodynia', and closed his textbook for departure he heard someone behind him and turned to see Anne, her face partially covered in darkness, looking like an angel in the gaslight that flickered on the sconce behind her and cast dreamy reflections in her eyes.

He had not seen her for months, not since their falling-out. He could still feel the pain in his slowly healing fractured wrist, (His doctor had firmly advised him against the practice of running with such an injury, though he stoically refused to acknowledge his words) and had not been ribbed much by the men who still believed he had been stone sober and had merely been trying to fix a creaky eves trough, but in his efforts, had tripped on an upturned nail and fell. Gilbert didn't bother to correct them. They all knew the condition of the Redmond dormitories.

"What do you want, Shirley?" Anne flinched.

"I—I didn't think you would be here." Indeed, she seemed not to have planned the encounter; her hair was a mass of frizzy copper curls and, tucked safely under her arm was a heavy looking leather bound book with faint gold lettering across its face. It had been raining, and small crystal beads had formed on the stray strands that escaped her low chignon.

"Gil—," Anne started.

"No Anne—,"

"No, listen to me," she said angrily, her voice growing shrill, "I won't let you walk away, and I will not be ignored; not by you or anyone."

Gilbert sighed and slammed his textbook back on the desk, took a seat, and waited.

"I am glad to hear of your engagement to Christine," Anne said, leveling her voice, "and I wish you all the happiness in the world for your future."

"And I hope you find satisfaction with the most esteemed, and might I add, the _very_ affluent, Mr. Gardener." Anne reddened.

"You—I came here to write, not to be marginalized by you," she stuttered, "I wished you happiness but I see that you do not desire the same for me."

"Anne, what I desire for you, what I have always desired for you, was for you to see me the way I saw you. I wanted you to desire me the way I did you; I disillusioned myself, and you have seen the consequences. What I wanted, what I have desired of you was for you to desire me, desiring you; for you and I to desire together, to desire us together."

"I— what?"

"What I meant to say was—," Anne burst out laughing, a most unladylike thing to do, and asked, between fits of giggling, "What were we fighting about?"

"Are we fighting? I was not aware," he was grinning now.

"No, I don't suppose we are," Anne smiled.

"Do you wish a fight? I believe I could take on twelve with the capabilities of you." Gilbert hadn't had so much fun since the romp in the hay with Christine, but that wasn't the same. He hadn't been able to truly and heartily laugh.

"So you would fight a woman?" Anne countered, "Besides, you should sit down, cripple, you may get hurt." She scoffed and flipped a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.

"I am already hurt, Anne, it was you who put me in the hospital."

"You put yourself into the hospital," Anne laughed, "you did it on your own!"

"That as it may be, I don't know what I will do about this arm; I can hardly register for the rowing club this year, thanks to you."

"Again," Anne said, "It was hardly my fault. But no matter, I have work to do. Planning lessons, you know."

"The woes of a teacher," Gilbert laughed, "Do you have time for imaginings anymore? It would be an awful shame if you forgot your Anne-ness with all of this education."

"What about you and your Gil-ness?" Anne countered, "Has it been tarnished by boring medical terms and the monotony of routine?"

"Sometimes I am not sure," Gilbert replied, "I have learned of so many different illnesses and syndromes that I fear I may be coming down with a horrid fear of illnesses and syndromes." He glanced down at his watch, and saw that it was nearing closing time.

"We—," Gilbert started,

"Should go," Anne said quietly. "I should really get to grading these papers, though." She readjusted her book under her arm.

"Do you need help with that?" Gilbert asked despite of himself.

"Its English, I think I shall be fine," Anne replied, "although I find that reading some of these stories to be most humorous."

"How so?" Gilbert found his upset dwindling in Anne's presence, and did not care who saw them together. Christine would not care; he was sure she wished only one thing from him; she would want him to be true to her. If Anne and he simply graded papers, no one would invent stories…

"Sit down, Shirley," he said, now using her last name as an affectionate nickname, "let us finish this before Old Edith kicks us out." Old Edith was the aged, but certainly not senile, librarian who insisted on promptly ousting all the occupants of the library at its closing time at exactly nine thirty five, and it was, Gilbert noticed, nearing nine fifteen.

They worked hard, and managed to finish marking the assignments, but not without a considerable amount of laughter from both parties due, in part to a young Miss Doreen Clayhaven, whose father was a preacher, wrote in her story, "A Christian should have only one spouse. This is called monotony," and "Moses died before he ever reached Canada." At this, the pair could not hold in their laughter enough to focus, and when they had settled down enough to speak, Anne said in a mock-horrified tone, "Oh my."

At long last, however, Old Edith came and drove them out with her best Mother Abbess look and they packed up, both thoroughly red in the face from laughing.

At the doors, Gilbert stopped and asked, "I'll walk you home."

"No," Anne said in a mollified tone, "what if someone sees us?"

"Why would it matter?" Gilbert replied, "It is not like we were up to anything. Besides, we have been friends for years and I am engaged to Christine."

"I suppose," Anne said quietly, suddenly aware of their unnerving closeness.

"It's not as if I did this," Gilbert kissed her cheek.

"Yes," Anne countered, her face blazing with a deep crimson blush, "And it is not like I did this," She reached up on her toes and kissed him, sweetly on the lips.

"Right," Gilbert said in a slightly breathy tone, "It is not like we did any of that."

"Right?"

"Right."

They walked to Patty's place in silence, but in the dark their faces were still blazing, and desire, hot and complete, plagued both as they reached the top step of the veranda.

"We do not have a future," Gilbert said, as if asking her.

"No," she replied, "You have Christine and I have Royal."

"Right?"

"Right."

**AN: So? I promise to write more because of my long absence, but what are your thoughts? Should they get back together, or should we have some fun and screw with them a bit? As always, R&R!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's some more and thank you for the great reviews, they make me happy! As always, R&R**

"Gil," Christine sighed into her lover's neck, "How I have missed you. Why do you have to be so long gone at the pub?"

"Time got away from me," Gilbert replied, taking off his coat at her front door, "You know Charlie and James."

"Yes, but darling, could you not tell them that I was waiting for you? I am sure they would understand." Her hands were now on his chest, unbuttoning his shirt. Her lips moved to capture his, but he turned and she tugged at his arm. "Come with me; let us have some fun."

"Christine," Gilbert said in an exhausted voice, "Please, not tonight. It had been a long day. I'm tired. I just came to—,"

Christine's face hardened, and her nails dug into his arm.

"It's that Anne girl isn't it?"

"No, it's just that—,"

"You think me dull and boring next to her, do you? Don't lie; I know how you look at her."

"Chris—,"

"No, don't you 'Christine' me, I know how hard you fell for her. But it is you and I now. She doesn't exist. Let me help you forget her." At the last part her voice became soft, and she let her hands drift to the buckle of his pants, but he stopped her with a firm hand.

"Listen," he said in an annoyed voice, "I know I haven't spent as much time as you would like with you, so—,"

"So what, Gil? You are going to tell me you will be around more, but just leave me off on my own, because you were tired? Gil, please let me do this." She succeeded in opening the top buttons of his shirt and started to trail hot kisses up his chest and onto his neck. She stopped abruptly and looked up into his eyes.

"Perfume. You smell like perfume." Her hand let his go, and a look of pure rage tinted her eyes. "It was Anne. You aren't tired from working; you are tired from having sex with her!" she let her hand come up and slap him as hard as she could across the face, her nails scoring the slight stubble on his cheek. "You bastard. I gave myself to you and you just waltzed away and made love to her. What am I now? Answer me!"

"Christine," Gilbert replied, looking suddenly wary, "I never had sex with Anne. We are just friends and I am engaged to you."

"Then what about the perfume then?" Christine challenged, "What is your excuse for that?" She didn't wait for a reply. "I suppose she just, I don't know, tripped, and, being the gentleman you are, you helped her, but in doing so, she got ridiculously intertwined with you and just happened to rub all over you?"

"Christine,"

"No!" Christine slapped him again, and he saw angry tears well in her eyes. "You Son of a Bitch! You whoremonger, you, you—," She became too upset to speak, and she unhooked his coat from the rack and threw it at him. "Get. Out."

Gilbert turned to leave, but felt one of his pockets to be empty. He turned to see Christine holding a beautiful box engraved with her initials, encasing the most sweet and fragrant perfume they had at the apothecary on Shooter Street. He glanced at her face for a moment, and heard her say, "Gil, I'm sorry, please, please don't leave," but he was no longer in a mood for saying much, so, after he opened the door, he said in an angry voice,

"I felt sorry for not spending enough time with you so I spent hours meddling at that toxic apothecary to find something for you. Happy? No pub for me tonight, although now you mention it, it seems like a perfect place to go."

He slammed the door, readjusted his coat, and set off towards the campus park. The night was warm and fresh, and he could see the moths in the light from the street lamp. With def feet, he moved, as if in a dream.

He barely heard Anne calling him. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, walking with Stella and Diana down street.

"Gil!" she called, smiling gaily, "You hoo, Gilbert Blythe!" he stopped, and Anne caught up to him, eyes merry.

"Oh, Gil, how nice to see you again," Diana Barry, another of the Avonlea children, now pregnant with her first baby said, hugging him with sisterly affection.

"You too, Di. How's Fred?"

"Oh, you know Fred," Diana smiled, "he is happy with a warm bed and a nice plate of chicken ready for him when he gets home, though I do believe I saw him dance around the back pasture when I told him the news, so he may be better than good." She patted her belly and looked to Anne. She was watching Gilbert, and when their eyes met, she knew instinctively something was wrong.

"Di, Stella?" Anne asked, "I just forgot, I left my clutch at the restaurant, I must go back." She saw Diana start to volunteer herself to accompany Anne, but she stopped her by saying, "I certainly do not want a pregnant woman to walk in the dark. Stella, will you please take Di home?"

Stella nodded, but looked curiously between Gilbert and Anne. Diana simply looked suspicious, but allowed herself to be led away by Stella, who, as she walked, wished them both a goodnight, and told Anne that she would leave a light on when she got home.

Anne replied that it would be lovely, and Stella and Diana gradually disappeared into the darkness. When she was sure they were out of sight and earshot, she put her hand on his arm and looked into his face.

"What is wrong?" She asked in a gentle voice.

"Is it that obvious?" Gilbert's voice cracked when he asked.

"Not to the others maybe, but we have known each other for years, do you really think me so obtuse as to miss that in your eyes?"

"What?" asked Gilbert, a shadow passing over his eyes.

"That," she said, gesturing to his eyes, "that darkness that crosses your face. It was there when I told you no the first time in Avonlea. Is something wrong with Christine? Is she well?" Gilbert rubbed his forehead with his good hand, breaking their touch, and scrunched his nose.

"Yes, something is wrong with Christine. She thinks I am being untrue to her with you. She—she thought we were—that we were—,"

"Involved," Anne said, walking towards a bench and sitting down. He joined her and looked out into the darkness.

"Exactly," he said, his voice growing louder, "She thought the perfume on my clothes was yours." He rested his elbows on his knees and shook his head.

"Oh dear," Anne said, "She did not expect that you had been buying her perfume."

"No," replied Gilbert miserably, "and it certainly did not help when we had that little eau du toilette fight at the shop." Anne had come with him to pick out a scent for Christine, and it had started innocently enough. Anne had sprayed him playfully with some room freshener, and it was war.

They had almost been kicked out, but they did manage to pick out a particularly sweet fragrance before they left. After that, they had gone to the jeweler and he had engraved Christine's initials on the pretty wooden box before Gilbert had headed for Christine's, expecting to give her the gift and go home.

Instead, he was kicked out of her house and now sat with Anne under the weak gaslight from the lamp post.

"How is Mr. Gardner?" Gilbert asked in spite of himself.

"Fine," Anne shrugged. "Gil?"

"Yes Anne?"

"Will you—I mean—will- what I mean to say is—will you marry her?"

"I suppose so," Gilbert answered, "I am engaged to her, after all."

"You should have pretty babies," she remarked, her eyes distant. "You are both so appealing to look at."

"We should, shouldn't we?" Gilbert replied, looking at his companion. "Anne, what is bothering you?"

"Kiss me," she said, her eyes closed while she said it, as if reciting a play that she dared not speak before opening night.

"Anne," Gilbert began.

"No, Gil, I do not want to do anything rash before I know what it is to have you kiss me."

Gilbert looked shocked for a moment, then, thinking to argue but not, he reached for one of her hands spread across her lap and looked into her eyes. They were grey and stormy, and she looked nervous.

He turned her chin gingerly with his fractured arm and slowly lowered his mouth towards hers. She closed her eyes as their lips met, and she tangled her free hand in his hair as their kiss deepened and they rose slightly from their seats.

When they broke apart, she let her hand fall to her side, and said, with a small wrinkling of her nose, "She was right. You do smell decidedly female." His response was to kiss her again, and again. He found that he could scarcely bring himself to speak, but broke away when he heard the sound of gravel crunching somewhere far off but approaching.

Gilbert rose to his feet and saw Christine emerging out of the gloom, her eyes glistening with tears, shawl wrapped tightly about her shoulders. Anne saw her too, and she made a gesture for Gilbert to go to her, and, with one glance and small sad smile to Anne, he went to meet Christine.

When he got to her, she wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his already perfume saturated shoulder. They spoke softly to each other, and Gilbert took her hand and led her back to her home, glancing back to see the woman he still loved, sitting in a small pool of lamplight, an unreadable expression on her doll like face.

**AN: thoughts? It seems that Anne get left a lot like this? Should Gil break up with Christine? Should things heat up between Gil and Anne? Any general stuff? R&R!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Thanks so much, Canadaroks, I really appreciate the feedback. Sorry if my facts are a bit rusty, I haven't read the Anne of Green Gables series in quite some time, though I am trying to get my hands on a copy to re-read currently. If I mess up, feel free to correct me, because, like I say, it's been a really long time!**

"Oh, I don't know, Roy," Anne said, stifling a yawn, "Blue. Yes, I suppose blue would be pretty."

They stood in the window of a tailor's shop admiring a display of fine suits and dresses.

"Anne?" Royal asked, turning to her,

"Hmm?" Anne said, absentmindedly.

"Would you like one of those dresses in the window?"

"Oh, I suppose they are very beautiful," Anne replied, "I don't see where I would wear one though."

"How about to dinner tonight?" Royal smiled, "At La Château Eau." La Château Eau was an exclusive waterside resort and restaurant to whose membership cost five thousand dollars a year. The richest of Redmond society went there; no students frequented the swanky upper-class restaurant, certainly not first years.

"Roy," Anne said, surprised, "I can't go somewhere like that. I'm not fine enough."

"You will be once you buy that dress," Royal pointed at a sleek green dress with an open back and a long white beaded scarf wrapped around the shoulders.

"I can't wear that," Anne insisted, "I would look wrong in such finery."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks" Royal winked, taking her hand and leading her into the shop.

The ordeal was delicately tedious; but after much taking-in of the dress around her breasts and bottom, she saw herself in the mirror and could not hold back a little, incredulous smile. The shopkeeper placed the delicate scarf about her, and she felt as if a complete transformation had overcome her.

She looked like one of the princess's from her childhood story books. Royal, of course, insisted on purchasing the incredible dress _and_ scarf, and when he came to pick her up from Patty's Place at seven, she felt like a doll dressed for the ball.

She had not forgotten Gilbert and their kiss, and she found that on her way to the château, she could not keep her mind off of him. Her heart gave an excited flip at the thought of him, and she had to force herself to gaze out of the windows of the very expensive Rolls-Royce to keep her face from growing scarlet.

Roy nattered on at the restaurant, and she would have missed the rest of his conversation if he had not said, "My dear, I do have the most negative impressions of Gilbert Blythe."

At the words "Gilbert Blythe," Anne looked up and forced her tone to be less airy and more conversational. "Oh yes?" she asked, finally interested in the topic.

"Indeed. I do not know what to think of the company he holds, or how he can manage to be so cruel to his fiancée while he goes about with his other physician friends."

"Well I suppose he must be dreadfully busy with his exams and studying."

"No, I do not think that is the reason. I hear he spends an unhealthy amount of time in the campus library and walking along the garden paths." Anne blushed scarlet, but the light was dim, and Royal seemed not to notice. "I say this, Anne, because I know he is your longtime friend, but must insist you find more reputable company. As well, I hear rumors that he has strayed from Christine, and do not think it right that my future wife hold such detestable council with a man such as he."

"Wife?" Anne spluttered, "Detestable council? Roy, he is one of my oldest and best friends. I will not stand to hear of him like this. I shall stay friends with him. I will not disown our friendship for the sake of propriety."

"I thought you would say that," Royal replied quietly. "The rumors surround you too, Anne. They are saying that Blythe is involved with you."

"How dare you," Anne said angrily, "For Gilbert Blythe, I have never known anyone else more respectable and upright than him, and for me; how dare you insinuate me." She, on impulse, upended her glass of red wine all over him and stalked away, huffing angrily and feeling particularly silly with herself.

Maybe she had overreacted and made a scene… maybe she should have let him continue and found out who had been perpetrating the rumors…

To her horror, she saw Christine down by the campus, walking towards a man shrouded in shadow. Anne stopped and watched them, hoping that the man was not Gilbert. She heard Christine say something faintly, and the man turned his face.

His hair was dark as was his clothes and was shorter than Gilbert and wider. Christine kissed him passionately before they disappeared behind the other side of the building, practically one shape in the weak moonlight.

Anne's first instinct was to run to Gilbert and tell him, but then she checked herself. She could tell him, but he would be hurt. She could tell him… but then he would think that she was jealous of Christine and blow her off as attempting to draw him away from his fiancée.

Indecisive, she rushed, as well as her skirts would allow her to, back to her own boarding house and changed swiftly. Diana had left already two days past, so she sought council in Stella who sat, reading, by the hearth.

"Theoretically, if you knew your closest friend was being cheated by his fiancée, would you tell him?" Anne asked abruptly, startling Stella. She put down her book and peered up at her friend.

"This friend is being cheated?" She asked, "Deliciously scandalous." This awarded a smile from Anne.

"Yes, this friend is being cheated," Anne confirmed, "I cannot disclose any more."

"Well," Stella said in a methodical voice, "you must tell this friend immediately lest they find out on their own and blame you for not telling them."

"You think?" Anne asked, knotting her hands behind her back.

"Well yes," Stella nodded, "Cheating is a grave issue, and it must be addressed. Would you not wish to be informed if Royal were to cheat on you?" Anne blanched, and Stella inquired as to the origins of the blanch, and Anne proceeded to recount the night's events.

By the end Stella looked shocked, and said, with her Stella-like decidedness, "You simple _must_ tell him."

**AN: So? The plot thickens. Should Anne tell Gil or should he find out on his own? And what about the rumors, where did they come from… where did they go?**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Thanks so much, Canadaroks and everyone who is still following my story! The reviews were lovely! And yes, I have found a book, but thank you for the help! My friend gave it to me, so, in my free time (which is practically none seeing as its nearing finals,) I will read it. As well, sorry about the Phil/Pricilla mix up. If you guys don't mind, I'm just going to add Phil in… As well, this chapter was done to Andare by Ludovico Einaudi **

Anne awoke the next morning no more decided than she had been the night before. Stella had told her to tell him. She wanted to, but…

Frustrated, she did her hair distractedly and had to try to tie the ribbon on the back of her dress four times before succeeding at last. After a quick appraisal in the mirror, she skipped down to breakfast with a coil of nervous tension set in her belly.

What she saw there stopped her cold in her steps. A policeman stood at the door, hat in his hands, speaking to Pricilla. He spoke quietly, and in a tone that suggested that he would much rather be elsewhere.

"…A terrible thing," he was saying, "…we are still looking into it, but it seems very cut and dry."

"What is?" Anne demanded from the end of the hallway, heart constricting painfully. Surely there was nothing wrong…

"Anne," Pricilla said in a disturbed voice, "Royal Gardener's dead."

Anne found that she could not speak. She could barely process what the policeman said next.

"…we found him in on the floor of his basement with several stab wounds inflicted on his chest and neck. Miss Shirley, where were you between the hours of eight and ten last night? This is a formality, but we must ask."

After that, the interrogation became more intense, but Anne, dazed as she was, recalled everything she remembered, except, of course, for the red wine incident which could insinuate her. The policeman, a detective by the name of Richard Shaw, was not harsh, but he was certainly becoming familiar with her and her goings-on, especially when they involved Royal.

"Thank you, Miss," Detective Shaw said when he had wrung her out thoroughly for information, "We shall be recording this for the case."

"Sir?" Anne asked, "Why would anyone kill him?" She sounded like a child, she knew it, but she needed to know.

"From what I have told your friend earlier, it seems to have been a violent break-in. Many things were stolen, and a great amount of property was damaged. Mr. Gardener was lifted of all his valuables including jewelry and this," he held up an exquisite diamond right with white gold and the words 'Anne, my love, you shall always be so.' "We found this on the lawn outside the house. It seems to have fallen out of the crook's pocket or hand while fleeing. It was too smudged to find any fingerprints by Mr. Gardener's but if we find a lead, we shall inform you promptly. You may have it if you like."

Anne took the ring and with a forced grace, let the detective out and moved to a chair in the parlor. She curled up, removed her hat, and stared into the dormant grate. The ring was cutting into her hand for she had not known how hard she was gripping it, and she relaxed her fingers so that it fell to the floor. She did not bend to retrieve it.

She felt as if she was under water. When Stella offered her a cup of water, she drank it silently and when Pricilla placed a blanket about her shoulders, she had not realized she was shivering. Gilbert came to the house to offer his condolences, and Anne's glazed heart broke open.

She cried from shame and pity; she cried because Gilbert held her close, and she cried because she felt lost. She and Royal had become distant, but it did not make the pain of losing a friend any less.

Gilbert stayed with her for what seemed an eternity, and finally left when the sky outside turned from sapphire to indigo and then to black. He helped her to her room, saying as he settled her in her bed, "to hang with the rules."

He made her drink the broth Stella made her before she slept, and pulled the covers over her shoulders with a tenderness that defined Gilbert Blythe. He kissed her gently on the cheek and stroked her hair, wishing her well. To her inquiry as to if he would come back in the morning, he nodded with a small sad smile and said that he would.

**AN: it's a short chapter, I know, but hey, new stuff has happened! Anne still needs to tell Gil about Christine, but I'm biding my time**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: thanks for the lovely reviews! It is so nice to write and then get a response. It makes my job of writing so much more fun! Love you all! **

Anne licked her dry lips. The funeral was open casket. She could hardly look into Royal's still face without grief. He had been her friend, and had hoped to marry her. She deceived him, and hoped that in Heaven he should not know of her deception.

The day was cold and drizzly as the clouds roiled moodily in their heavenly kingdom, splashing earth with droplets of cold water. Her mood suited this weather; this ominous day, water droplets pattering against the coffin lid as Roy was lowered into the supple, wet earth.

Gilbert had not come with her, nor had Pricilla or Stella. She found that bearing her grief was much easier when she could feel it and recover from it on her own. Of course, Royal's family gave her no respite, for they had never even seen the beautiful girl Royal wrote often to them about.

Mr. Gardener was pleasant though he grieved, but when Mrs. Gardener put her hands on both of Anne's and promised her that they would get through it together, and that it would be alright, Anne broke down into fresh tears, and Mrs. Gardener joined her.

She lingered after the dirt and flowers had been thrown on the site, and merely sat on the grass, head in her hands, thinking and trying to comprehend her loss; the whole family's loss. Her selfishness made her rip tufts of grass and spread them about her, and her despair made her body weak.

She did not remember when, but she finally managed to stagger to her feet and return home, she was soaked through and shivering. She mounted the steps of the veranda in bare feet and found Gilbert, his face grave, sitting on the porch swing, flowers in his hand.

"Anne, I am truly sorry," he said.

She collapsed into his arms and he helped her inside after a long moment.

"Gil," Anne gasped "with Jane being sick and dying, and Royal dead, I cannot go on. I simply cannot."

"Hogwash," Gilbert replied not unkindly, "We must go on; it is what we Avonlea folks do. You will get better. You will heal." He had her sit on the settee in the parlor, and handed her a cup of tea.

"What if I don't Gil?" Anne said tearfully, "what if I am broken from their loss?"

"Then I shall piece you back together," Gilbert stroked her hair and slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

…

Gilbert disentangled himself from Anne when he was sure she was asleep, and went to the kitchen to prepare a meal for when Anne woke up.

He heard a rustling behind him, coming from the window, but he ignored it. Until he heard a heavy whacking noise and fell to the floor, his vision blurred and red, the metallic feeling of a blow to the head in his mouth.

He tried to turn, but a boot came down savagely on the side of his face and he blacked out.

…

The culprit of the attack, after a quick glance around, threw a match in the old wood stove and lit a cigarette, throwing it carelessly onto the wood. He closed the ventilation off, locked the kitchen door, and retreated the way he had come, back out the kitchen window.

When he was out, he shut the window behind him and nailed it shut. Already smoke had begun to fill the room. If Blythe did not die of his head wound, he would die of smoke inhalation.

**So? More to come soon!**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hey everyone! Thanks for the excellent reviews, you are all awesome! Sorry for the delay, it was my birthday. Canadaroks- Ramble away! Luv the enthusiasm! Who did it I wonder? **

"Get out of my way!" Charlie roared, shoving nurses out of the way to make room for the stretcher Gilbert came in on.

James called similar orders as Anne was brought in, and the two men rushed the pair into separate operating rooms. James moved aside for the head doctor, and found that he could not but stare as the doctor stripped away the top portion of Anne's dress to gain better access to the space below her ribcage and called for a heavy sedative.

…

Gilbert swam in and out of consciousness as he was wheeled into the hospital; the world appeared in large block shapes, and he felt himself wretch. He tried to move his hands, but found that the effort to be exhausting.

"Gilbert, Gil," Charlie's voice registered faintly in his head. Charlie must be interning tonight, he thought.

Someone called for a sedative, and when Gilbert attempted to open his mouth to protest, he found his throat to be scorched and it difficult to breathe. He was hit on the head, not burned, wasn't he?

A rag soaked in chloroform was placed over his mouth and nose, and he fought to keep consciousness, but only for the few moments before he blacked out. From then what happened was a mystery. Only when he awoke in a hospital bed with IV drips inserted in his veins did he regain a semblance of awareness.

As to his painful enquiries as to what happened, the doctor, a man he knew well to be Hubert Grinstone, explained that he had, they though, upset a pitcher of water and had slipped on its contents, smashing his head on the counter rim and blacking out. The reason for the smoke inhalation, he explained, was that they found a fire in the stove with the vents closed, and had supposed that Gilbert had been making food when the unfortunate accident happened and had merely forgotten to open the smoke vents. At least, that was what the fire department thought.

He asked Gilbert if that was the case, and he agreed that it must have been, for his memory was still fogged, and he recalled only the barest facts.

He had gone to make Anne food, hit his head… or did someone else hit it? And fell to the floor. How was Anne?

Dr. Grinstone assured him that she was fine, although she had given the doctors quite a scare when she had stopped breathing in the operating room. She had developed mild phenomena that night as well, though she was closely monitored by the nurses.

"You must be prone to these sorts of things," Dr. Grinstone remarked as he checked Gilbert's pulse. "Accident's are nasty, are they not?"

Gilbert mumbled a reply and dipped back into exhausted sleep.

…

Anne awoke blearily. Her lungs hurt, her chest seared with pain, and she felt a swimming behind her eyes.

A nurse sat with her; a short, brown haired young woman with horn-rimmed spectacles.

"Good morning, Miss Shirley," she said pleasantly, "I am Violet and I am your nurse until four this afternoon. I brought you breakfast."

Anne barely heard her. Her hands searched for what restricted her chest, and found a heavy gauze bandage wound around her breasts, ribs, and behind her back.

"We must change those soon," Violet commented, "The dressing with be soaked through with blood."

"What happened?" Anne croaked.

"You inhaled a large amount of smoke, Miss_._ We had to operate to repair any charred tissue in your lungs to prevent it from scarring."

"Mm," Anne groaned, "when can I go home?"

"Easy there," A voice said from the door. Anne turned her head to see a man, just about the same height as Gilbert, but shorter and stalkier. His dark brown hair was tousled across his forehead and his face was like a pixie's. It was all angles and his eyes were a cool grey.

Anne's breath hitched and her heart constricted painfully.

"You—you," her hands shook and her eyes grew wide. James grinned wickedly at her, but said nothing.

"James," Violet said, standing, "I didn't know you worked today."

"I don't, I took the shift for Blythe."

"Oh," she said, smiling, "I see. You are too kind, _doctor_."

Anne saw that she was flirting, and it gave her a second to regain her composure; Christine's lover, standing not ten feet away from her, letting Violet flirt with him.

"Vi, I think you should take a break, you look exhausted," James said, touching the girl's hand.

"You are right, of course," Violet agreed, "will you take care of Miss Shirley for me, then?"

"Of course," James agreed, "get something to eat, go home maybe. Miss Shirley will be in good hands." Violet smiled then, kissed his cheek and left, giving no backwards glance at her patient, who lay, petrified, on her pillows. She knew not the reason of the fear, only that a deep primal instinct had been triggered in her.

She tried to move, but stifled a gasp as a torrent of pain clenched her chest and abdomen.

"Miss Shirley," James said, closing the door, "Anne. What a pretty name. How do you feel?"

Anne's nostrils flared, and she refused to answer.

"Come now, Anne-girl. Answer me." She couldn't breathe; he knew Gilbert's pet name for her. Gilbert himself never referred to her as such unless they were alone.

"Get—get away from me, leave Gil alone," Anne said, her voice shaking. She glanced quickly around for a weapon, and found the butter knife for the food she had not touched. Her hand reached towards it, and she pulled it beneath her covers before James saw.

"No need to be brave Anne," James said with a sadistic curl to his lip, "you don't think that I would wish to harm our friend? No, his whore, maybe, but not him. Christine will want to do that herself."

"Please," Anne tried, "please leave me; I have no quarrel with you." Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. Staring at your would be killer in the face was not as easy as it seemed.

"I cannot leave you," James returned, "you are an intelligent woman; what could I possibly wish from you that I would come and see you?" Anne bit her lip. "What did Blythe take from Christine that she can never get back, hm? What do you have that once it is taken, you cannot get back?" Anne felt her face drain of color, and she pulled the blankets tighter over herself.

James advanced, but suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and James paused. "One moment," he called, glaring sinisterly at Anne, "I will be back for you, know that." He moved back towards the door and opened it, revealing Charlie Sloan, standing at the door looking bewildered.

"What are you doing, Derwent?" He asked, "They're looking for you down at admissions."

James gave one backwards glance at Anne who still sat, petrified, her eyes wide, and then quit the room, walking at a brisk pace.

"Anne," Charlie said, "Anne? Are you well?"

Anne bit her lip, not even noticing that she was shaking uncontrollably and unconsciously.

"Anne?" He said again, coming to put his hand to her forehead.

"Please don't let him back in here," Anne said, sobbing a little, "please Char; do not let him in." Charlie looked puzzled, but asked no questions.

"Gil has been positively mad asking about you. We can barely keep him strapped down for protection of his head."

"His head?" Anne asked.

"Oh yah, he slipped and hit it on the countertop while he was in the kitchen making food yesterday evening."

"Then, the smoke…"

"He forgot to turn the ventilation on, and the window was nailed shut."

"Nailed shut?" Anne asked, "But the kitchen window is always left open. It was even open when I got my things yesterday morning." To this, Charlie had no reply.

"I have to make my rounds," he said gently, "they expect me to intern, so intern I must."

"Charlie," Anne said in a desperate voice, clutching her friend's hand so that her nails dug into his skin.

"Easy, easy Anne," he said, and she flinched. Those words were too similar to the ones James had used. "I will come back, you know, after my rounds. You're safe, it's okay." He got up to leave, and Anne watched him helplessly as he left the room and shut the door quietly.

She sobbed then, and attempted to pull herself from the bed, only to wretch into a basin placed on her bedside table and, still with the basin, tumble to the floor. She lay there for several minutes, simply gasping in pain. She felt the blood Violet spoke about seeping wetly down her stomach, and she mopped some of it up with a bed sheet she ripped from the bed.

Gilbert. Gilbert. She could form only one coherent thought as she dragged herself to the door, barely able to breathe for the pain.

She would find him, and she would rescue him from Christine and James.

**AN: Yah or no? Yay! Or nay? R&R! I've got some pretty gnarly stuff planned for the next chapter, so staaaay tuned!**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Thank you, I had a wonderful birthday! And I hope you all liked that little twist! Things are about to get complicated, though, so I hope your interest in the story is still decent!**

"James, no," Christine said, standing in her dark living room, "Don't you think we've done enough? I never meant for anyone to get hurt, let alone killed."

"Enough? Enough? We've done enough? He tore your heart out Chris, when do you think repayment for that will be enough?"

"Never," she replied quietly, "but I didn't mean for Gardener to die. I wanted Anne to suffer for her whoring, but I didn't want her lover erased completely."

"You know what happened," James said, voice hard, "It went wrong. I had no choice but to do it."

"But we have a choice now, James," Christine said in a soothing voice, "we can stop. No one will ever find us. We can leave and go somewhere safe; somewhere we can live until we are old and grey."

"What is this about?" James demanded, eyes lit with an angry spark, "Not three days ago you wanted to rip his heart out with your bare hands, now you want to leave him alone?"

"It was before I knew I was pregnant."

James practically flew at her, shaking her shoulders violently, "Whose child?" It sounded menacing.

"Yours," she replied, eyes large with fright, "I haven't been with Gil for weeks, and if I were with his child I would have known sooner. You're—you're going to be a father, James." His hands went slack on her shoulders, and he looked lost.

"Then we have but one thing to do before we make our getaway, my darling."

**Short, wretched, and… what do you think? Cliffhanger, yah, I'm evil…**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: I'm back, and with a new twist! Had extreme writers block and need ideas! *eye twitches* **

**James and Gil at the same time: another one?**

**Me: Yup. **

**James: Do I have to do anything? **

**Me: Uh huh…**

**James: FML**

**Me: FML indeed**

"How much do you need?" Violet asked in a stricken voice, holding her purse out to James, "I'll give you all you ask for."

"I need five."

"Here, take it," Violet handed James a bill.

"Five thousand," he clarified. Her face grew pale, and she dug in her purse. She pulled a cheque book from its depths and quickly scrawled out the number across a page at the front.

"Here, take this," she said earnestly, "I've been saving it, but if it will help you— take it, please."

"It won't work," He disagreed, "I need cash."

"I—I don't have that much money on me," she said, "But I could get it. The bank will be open tomorrow morn, I could collect it then."

"That's alright, I'll get it somewhere else," James handed the bill back to her and set off at a run, down the dark alleyway.

"Wait!" Violet cried. James paused. "Where are you going?"

"Mexico."

James counted the money in his bag when he got back to the apartment. He had gutted the place of all valuables, but was still five thousand dollars short.

Just as he clasped the bag shut, however, he noticed something glinting dully in the gaslight. Desperately, he reached for it, and found it to be a brilliant diamond ring with a crescent of amethyst on one side and sapphire on the other. It must have been the ring Gilbert had proposed to Anne with, James thought wryly.

It would fetch a good price on the black market.

James rung up an old business associate and agreed to meet him at the pier in an hour, hastily gathering the rest of the money and what little belongings he had not pawned off.

He paced when he got there; Silas had not yet arrived.

Christine would be upset to hear of his thieving, yet the consequences would be worse if he was not able to pay back Clark. Already he could see his breath curl in the air and he felt for his colt .45 in his greatcoat pocket.

James started when he heard crunching on the gravel road behind him and looked up, hand still on his gun, to see Silas, the stooped old Italian jeweler, a thick winter scarf about his ears, hands shoved deeply in his pocket.

"Do you have it?" Silas asked in an impatient voice, "I am an old man, why did you bring me out here?"

"I need money," James replied, pulling the ring from his bag, "and I think you can help me with that." He handed the ring over, and Silas examined it closely, making approving noises as he turned it in his hands. He pulled a gemologist's loupe from his pocket and scrutinized it more closely. Finally, he looked up, saying as he did,

"They are all real." He was too wise to ask how James had come across it. "How much will you take for it?"

"Five," James replied.

"For this?" Silas scoffed, "come boy, it is worth no more than two."

"Four, then," James bargained, "I'll trade it for four."

"Three fifty."

"Done." Silas pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and began counting bills. James had half a mind to mug the old man and take the wad, for it certainly would be enough to pay off the debt, but he had known the man since he was a boy, and he did not want to live with Silas' blood on his hands. "Do you know what Clark is planning?" the old man said.

"What?" James looked up from counting his money.

"He wants more money. They will rob the bank tonight. Or have, depending on when they left."

"Christine," was all James could say. She worked at the bank; she was a teller there part-time and she was on clean-up that night after the doors closed.

"I must be off," Sila's said, clapping James on the shoulder. "I won't ask any more about you, boy, but stay safe. I wish to see you again when times are good and you are not running from Clark and the boys."

James gave Silas a look, but darted off in the direction of the bank without a word, money secure in place of the ring. It had begun to rain, so he ducked his head and kept going, letting it douse him so that his hair fell in lip curls across his face.

He couldn't stop. He knew what would happen if he did. He would lose her, just as he had lost his fortune and respect because of Clark and his men. Gilbert thought that it was him who attacked him with the bat. He would become sure of it when he saw the sacked apartment. They would blame him.

When he arrived at the bank, all looked normal, but he pulled out his colt before he came any closer, just to be sure. Wiping the hair from his eyes, he edged closer to the back door which he used more than the front, for Christine was fond of meeting him at the back.

He strained his ears, tried the door, but stopped when he heard a small noise from within. It sounded like a conversation. He tried the door; it relented, and he entered to see, through a small open space where the tellers would stand in the day, Christine, her hands tied behind her back, and seven men, two of whom lay unconscious or dead, James could not tell, on the floor. They were guards who had stayed to close up.

"We know your beau will be here soon," one of the men, Edgar Weston said, "he owes us money, and a great deal of it."

"Then—then why try to rob the bank?" Christine stuttered, glancing wildly around for an escape.

"It's a bonus," Weston replied, "We get his money; and the city's." He smirked maliciously, grazing his hand across Christine's cheek. She knocked it away with her shoulder. Frowning, he said, "Tell us the code."

"No," she said stonily.

Another man, not Weston, hit her hard, knocking her to the floor.

"Tell us now or we will kill you."

Christine closed her mouth which had begun to bleed and watched them, unable to stand for her bonds were at the back. The same man who had hit her kicked her viciously in the stomach, and she curled over, moaning in pain.

James, who had seen enough to be furious, stepping through the teller's door and into the light, watching the men. "Let her go," he said in the calmest voice he could muster, "I have the money."

"Good," Weston's lip curled, "Because Clark said that if you didn't have it, the full amount, we would have to kill you." James squared his shoulders and handed over the pack, adding to the bundle the money Silas had given him for the ring.

Weston pulled Christine to her feet and pushed her at James, apparently forgetting their secondary objective. The other men had their guns ready.

"Go, get away as fast as you can," James whispered to her, untying the ropes that bound her wrists, "Do not alert the police, if they know about this both our lives could be in danger." Christine nodded and a small tear rolled down her cheek. James kissed it away and gave her a little shove. "Go."

"I love you," she replied, slowly backing away towards the doors James had come through. James mouthed the words back, and she rushed out of sight, consumed by shadow.

James turned to the men, and Weston snarled.

"You are two thousand five hundred short."

James ran.

He ran out the same way as he had come, but did not see Christine. He hoped that she had a head start, or that she was at least keeping to the darkness. The men were on his heels, and he yanked his gun from its pocket, cocked it, and kept going.

He neared the pier, coughing but still running hard, the rain and sweat pouring in little streams down his face. The others were still on his heel, but he turned when he reached the edge of the dock, near a small fishing trawler.

In the distance he could hear the sounds wafting over the water from the Château Eau, and the nearing footsteps of his enemies. He flattened himself against the wall of the boat, listening hard. A woman screamed, and a shot rent the night air.

James nearly fell to his knees. It was Christine; she was dead. They killed her.

As the steps grew nearer, he turned to face them. He could run but he couldn't hide. They would find him and kill anyone they felt got in the way.

He saw them close off the gap on the pier, and he lifted his gun to shoot. Four shots were issued before he was hit in the chest. He staggered, dropped his colt, and fell in a lifeless arch, back first off the dock, into the dark water.

His last thought before he splashed down into the deep was simple.

_Christine. _

**AN: So? Sorry it took me so long to write, I couldn't come up with anything. Oh yah, the story will revert back to Anne/Gil but I thought James and Christine needed the spotlight for a chapter. As always, R&R! Oh, Canadaroks, this one is for you. I struggled over writing this because of the great review! (Everyone else: your reviews were much appreciated too!)**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: sorry for the delay! Here is more, maybe a lemon in this chapter? Dunno, read and tell me what u think. Lemonade or limeness…**

"So… it was James?" Anne asked, curled close to Gilbert as they sat on the grass by the beach, her petticoat wrapped around her shoulders. Still her chest pained her, but only ever so slightly. It had been four months since the incident, and after all the confusion at the hospital, the story was only now coming to light.

"Yes. He and Christine were involved, and he owed a great deal of money to a man from Guelph. He came to collect and used Christine as bait—took most of the Redmond Bank for all it's worth, not to mention taking me for all I am good for."

"Mm," Anne said drowsily, placing her head on Gilbert's shoulder.

"She was pregnant," Gilbert said as a side note. Anne's head shot up and she gripped his arm a little harder.

"It was James,'" he said in a soothing voice, "I am only sorry that he could not have lived to see it grow up."

"Yes," Anne sighed, resettling herself in the crook of his arm, "Poor Christine. What shall she do? She was hurt pretty badly from the shot; I don't suppose it hurt the little one?"

"No, it was not harmed," Gilbert assured her, "She is still a little shaken up, but her child is well. None of us were willing to let her baby die for James' sins—we made sure she would recover."

"Gil?" she asked abruptly, "Do you think we shall ever have a baby?"

"Are you asking me to marry you?" Gil laughed, pulling her into his lap, stroking her hair away from her face.

"I suppose I am," she smiled, "but not just yet, we need to finish school first."

"I agree," Gilbert nodded, nuzzling his nose into the indent at the base of her neck, "but darling, will you make me wait to do this?" he kissed her neck in a most improper fashion and…

AN: Good or bad? Pure or otherwise? It's up for vote. (kinda seems a little un-Annish though if they go much further…?)


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Canadaroks, the :) was enough to keep me writing! Thank you; it was a nice surprise in my inbox! Kay, so I thought about it, and I'm going to keep it PG, I think, for the most part anyway. Happy reading!**

…he kissed her neck in the most improper fashion and brought her into his lap so that he could see her eyes clearly. Tonight they were the most exquisite stormy blue he had ever seen.

"Did I ever tell you that l have loved you since we first met?" he asked, tracing her form through the thin fabric of her dress so that she shivered.

"I think so," she sighed, breathing in the smell of his aftershave. "But never thought you really meant it. I— we have grown up together—," she blushed when she said it, realizing how she must sound. "I—I, what I mean to say is," she was cut off by a deep longing kiss and she forgot what she was going to say. She merely tangled her fingers in his hair and let him be with her.

Never before had he made her feel like this; the kiss was deeper and more passionate than anything she had ever experience, and she found that butterflies had begun to rise within her belly. Something long hidden and possibly forgotten made her blush scarlet and she looked up into Gilbert's eyes, made ever more handsome by the moonlight.

"Will you marry me, Anne-girl?" he asked as they broke apart, expression hopeful. Anne smiled radiantly and responded by nodding as she brought her lips to his again, as if she would never be able to get enough of his touch; his Gil-ness.

**AN: short, I know, but I think it is time for these lovers to return to their place in L.M Montgomery's books so they can fulfill their proper destiny. I may write a Walter story later, because I love him and cried when he died in the books, but we'll see. Thanks to all for your support and lovely reviews. (I still like them, so if you want to comment, feel free!) As always, R&R!**


	14. Author's Note

**AN: Hey, I decided to write a new story, for those interested in Walter's story. It is just called "Walter." If you are interested check it out and tell me what you think! **


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